Touch of Grey
by Asher J
Summary: A Grateful Dead convention floods the ER.  Luby Reela.
1. Chapter 1:  Neela

_**TOUCH OF GREY**_

**CHAPTER 1: Neela**

_**"H**_ey, Neela!" I heard Ray call from the bathroom. "Have you seen my skull ring?"

"It's in the medicine cabinet!" I answered as I stuck four waffles in the toaster and turned it on.

"Really? What's it doing in there?"

"I didn't want it falling down the drain again!"

To be honest with you, that was the last thing I wanted to deal with this morning. I looked at the clock, and saw that it was a quarter after six. Our shift was to start at seven on the dot, and I didn't want to be late again and face the Wrath of Weaver. Ever since she had that hip operation, she's been even grouchier, according to a lot of us in the ER. You'd think that she'd be just a _little_ nicer now that she no longer needs her crutch.

I was pouring us some coffee when Ray came into the kitchen wearing his Grateful Dead T-shirt, black jeans and black Doc Martens with the yellow laces. "What do you think?" he asked.

"You're kidding, right?" I said, trying to keep a straight face. There's no way anybody would know that he was a doctor with the way he was dressed.

"What?" he said defensively. "I told you about that Grateful Dead convention that was going on all this weekend."

"Since when are you into the Grateful Dead?"

"Since eighth grade," he answered as he poured some cream into his coffee. Way too much, if you ask me.

"I dunno, I'm just afraid that people will mistake you for a bum," I told him.

"Well, if anything, my shirt'll give the psych patients something to look at to calm them down."

"If the picture of the skeleton doesn't scare the crap out of them first," I joked.

Ray laughed as sarcastically as he could manage. In case you're wondering, I was not looking forward to what the day would bring.


	2. Chapter 2:  Abby

**CHAPTER 2: Abby**

_**H**_ave you ever had that feeling where you know that your day's really going to suck? Well, today, I definitely had that feeling. As if the day that my maniac of a mom showed up out of the blue wasn't bad enough! I can still hear her screaming her head off while Carter and Luka had to put her in restraints just so they could give her some Haldol to calm her down. To this day, I still don't know who needed it more, her or me.

"I cannot _believe _this traffic," I grumbled as I drank the last of my capuccino. "There had better not be somebody up there playing a joke, because if there is, I am so going to tear them a new one."

"You're sounding a lot like Kerry these days," Luka commented.

"No, this is what Kerry sounds like: 'Dammit, Malucci, stop trying to get into that intern's pants and get your pinhead over here!'"

Both of us practically laughed ourselves sick over that. And in case you're wondering, Luka was laughing the same way he did the time that he put those joke snakes, or whatever the hell you call those things, in my purse. And I'll tell you, I never would've imagined someone as masculine as him having such a girly laugh.

We would've gone on for hours if we didn't hear a frantic pounding on my window. I looked, and there was a girl who looked like she was about twelve or thirteen years old. She had rainbow-colored hair, and was dressed all in black.

"Somebody help us!" she shouted.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. What's wrong?" I asked as Luka and I unbuckled our seatbelts.

"My sister's been hit!" she sobbed as Luka and I jumped out of the car. "She's over by the El station!"

We followed the girl over to the El station, where we found another girl, who looked like she was fourteen or fifteen, lying in the crosswalk. She was lying there, holding her ribs, and groaning in pain. Her left leg was bent at a 30-degree angle, and blood was coming from her temples. "What's your name, sweetheart?" Luka asked as he knelt beside her.

"Dove," the girl whimpered.

"Dove, I'm Dr. Kovac, and this is Dr. Lockhart. We're going to help you, okay?" he said soothingly. "Abby, call an ambulance, and get me something to splint her leg."

While I was dialing, a woodpile underneath the steps caught my eye. I put the phone up to my ear, and reached for a piece of wood. "Hello, Kerry? It's Abby. Luka and I are outside the El station. A girl was just hit!" I reported. "I need an ambulance over here now!"

"Okay, I'll tell Gates to get Trauma One ready," Kerry answered.

"Got it. Thanks," I said, and as I hung up, I rushed the piece of wood back to Luka. "Here, take off your tie," I said as I yanked off my ascot and handed it to him.

I don't know who said what next, because I started to feel lightheaded. I guessed that Luka noticed, because he told me to sit down. And that's the last thing I remember before blacking out.


	3. Chapter 3:  Sam

**CHAPTER 3: Sam**

_**I **_heard the ambulance screech to a halt in the bay, and that's when I knew we were in for something serious. Pratt and Morris were already outside the doors, and immediately swung into action. "What do we got?" Morris shouted.

"Dove Salituccio, fourteen, hit-and-run," EMT Powell reported. "Resps borderline shallow, pupils reactive but sluggish, facial lacerations, compound fracture of the left shin bone, possible broken third and fourth ribs."

"Trauma One's clear," I announced. "Let's get her inside."

The three of us followed Powell and Riley past the main desk and into Trauma One. "On my count, _einz, zwei, drei," _Pratt ordered, and we moved her onto the table.

"Since when do you speak German?" Morris asked.

"I took it in high school, and was an exchange student to Austria, but let's talk about that later," Pratt said as he put on his stethoscope. "Does it hurt anywhere else?" he asked the girl.

"Just my chest and my leg," she moaned. "Where's Moon?"

"Who's that?" I asked.

"My sister," she answered, grimacing in pain.

"She's waiting out in Chairs," Morris told her. Then, turning to Pratt, he asked, "How's her heartbeat?"

"Heartbeat's normal, resps still uneasy," Pratt reported.

"BP's 110/90, pulse ox 86," I added. "Start an IV?"

"You got it," Pratt said. "Run in two liters of saline."

I'd just started hooking up the IV when one of the monitors started going off. "Pressure's dropping," I informed them.

"Could be a ruptured spleen or a collapsed lung. Let's get an ultrasound," Morris ordered. One of the attendings did it, and sure enough, it was a collapsed lung. "That's what I was afraid of. Chest tube?"

"I'm on it!" I said, grabbing the scalpel. Positioning the blade on the girl's right side, I very carefully started cutting, and all the time whispering, "Come on, come on...There, give me the tube!"

"Easy now, Sam," Pratt said calmly. "We're almost there."

After what seemed like forever, I finally got the tube in the right position. And how I managed to get through it without having a nervous breakdown, search me. "I'm in. BP's 90/50 and rising, pulse ox 92."

"Good save. I'll call the OR."

After the girl was wheeled out of the room, I leaned against the wall and sank to the floor. I had to take some deep breaths and get myself back in the game. After all, this was the first time I'd ever done a chest tube, which nurses are not trained to do. ER regulations specifically state that another doctor must be called in to assist with a procedure such as this one, but as serious as this girl's condition was, none of us had time to think about that. And if, God forbid, I'd caused a broken rib to penetrate her lung any further, she would've gone into asystole.

"Hey, you all right?" I heard Neela ask.

"Huh? Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I lied. "Just putting in a chest tube."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah. The patient just gave us a little scare, but it's in, and she's on her way up to surgery."

"Oh. Okay. Listen, are you free tonight?"

"I wish," I groaned. "Alex and a couple of his buddies are dragging me to that Deadhead convention tonight."

Neela shook her head sympathetically. "Say no more," she said. "Ray has a similar agenda. I couldn't talk him out of it if I tried."

"Maybe you guys can join us, and while we're there, we can sneak out and catch the 10:00 show at Chippendale's," I joked.

"I don't know. It's only been two and a half months since Michael's funeral, and I don't know if I'm ready to, as they say, cut loose and have a ball."

"I understand," I said as I got up from the floor. "Well, I guess tie-dye and macrame are in store for us tonight."

"As long as we do it together," Neela agreed.

We'd just walked out of the room when we heard the buzz of the security doors. "Frank, what's open?" we heard Luka shout.

"Curtain Three," Frank told him.

The next shout we heard pushed all our negative thoughts about the convention out of our heads. In fact, the next shout came from Kerry: "Oh, my God, Abby!"

We rushed into the Admit area, and found Yosh and Malik placing a gurney under Abby. "What the hell happened?" Malik exclaimed.

"She passed out outside the El station where we found that girl," Luka panted. "Her pupils are dilated, temp's 102.2, and she's sweating like a hog."

"That's 'pig'," Yosh corrected him.

"Whatever, just get her to Curtain Three!" Luka said frantically.

"I'll get some cold water and some towels," I said.

"Good. Move it!" Kerry ordered. Within seconds, we were all surrounding our colleague and trying to cool her down. First, a hit-and-run where we almost lose the patient, then plans I wasn't looking forward to, now Abby with heat exhaustion. Was this my lucky day or what?


	4. Chapter 4:  Luka

A/N: In case you're wondering, Dove and Moon are hippie names.

**CHAPTER 4: Luka**

_**A**_s soon as I'd helped Abby get settled in, I told everyone, "Get a set of vitals, and I'll be right back."

I went to the lounge, opened my locker, took my tie and Abby's ascot, which we'd used to stablize the girl's leg, out of my pocket, and put them on the shelf in my locker. Next, I took my stethoscope off the shelf and put it across the back of my neck, then I put my lab coat on and returned to Curtain Three.

All the while, I didn't know who I should've been more worried about, Abby or Dove. I'd never seen someone I was close to get that sick before, and with her hysterectomy and all, I didn't know how she was going to get through this one.

"I just heard what happened," Tony said as he came out of Exam Two. "How is she?"

"Well, her temperature is going down, but she's still pretty out of it," I answered.

"Yeah, heat exhaustion will do that to you," Tony sighed. "I hope she's okay."

"Thanks."

"Dr. Kovac?" Lydia said just then. "She's starting to wake up."

"Thanks, Lydia," I said. "Tell her I'll be right there."

"Well, I've got to get this to the lab," Tony said. "I'll talk to you later."

I nodded and made my way to Curtain Three. Lydia was right. Abby was waking up, but she wasn't making any sense.

"Mom, why the hell won't you listen to me?" she was saying. "I've told you a million times that you need to stay on your meds, and these things wouldn't happen. At this rate, it'll take me a month to fix Mrs. Dawson's garage door."

"Abby?" I said, brushing her hair out of her face. "Abby, it's Luka."

I thought for sure hearing my voice would snap her out of it, but it didn't. "Carter?" she slurred. "Carter, what did you do with those x-rays?"

"Carter's not here, Abby," I said, pulling my pen light out of my pocket. "Your pupils are reactive, so it looks like you're going to be okay."

"Joe? What is it? What's wrong? Is he all right?" Abby asked anxiously.

"He's fine," I reassured her. "He's with the nanny."

That got her attention, and she opened her eyes and looked around. "Where am I? What happened?"

"You passed out outside the El station," I told her, putting on my stethoscope. "Remember? We found that girl in the crosswalk and helped her?"

"How did I get here?"

"I put you in the car, and we followed the ambulance," I told her. Then I put my hand on her head and said, "Just follow my finger with your eyes." Abby did so, then I continued, "You're suffering from heat exhaustion. But your temperature's going down, so you should be all right in a day or two."

Abby smiled weakly. "Who's going to do the laundry?" she asked as she settled back against the pillow.

"Don't worry," I laughed gently. "I think I can take care of that. And if I make any mistakes, I'm sure the nanny'll let me know."

"She'd better," Abby grinned.

"Well, I'll check back with you in a while," I said, patting her hand. "Now get some rest."

"Yes, Dr. Kovac," Abby said sarcastically. Then, she went back to sleep.

Well, I knew that Abby was going to be okay, but I was still worried about Dove. I got on the elevator, went up to the surgical floor, and made my way to the waiting room. I saw the girl's sister sitting on the couch. "Hi," I said, taking a seat beside her. "I'm Dr. Kovac."

"I know," she answered. "My name's Moon. I can't believe this is happening."

"I know you must be very upset, but we got your sister the help she needed very quickly, so there's a good chance that she'll pull through. Have you called your parents yet?"

"Our parents are dead," she said sadly. "I was only ten when they were killed in a fire. Dove and I have been living in a girls' home since then."

"Did you call someone there?"

She nodded. That's when Dr. Anspaugh came out. "Moon Salituccio?" he called.

In an instant, Moon was out of her seat. "Yes?"

"Your sister's going to be fine. She's in the recovery room. She had a broken left shin and a couple of broken ribs, but we were able to repair the damage."

"Oh, thank God," Moon sighed. "Can I see her?"

"Absolutely. I'll have a nurse come get you."

It's not often that you get good news twice in a row. And I was grateful in every sense of the word.


	5. Chapter 5:  Pratt

**CHAPTER 5: Pratt**

_**A**_fter we'd sent the girl up to surgery, I headed toward the men's room. After all that excitement with trying to stabilize her, I really needed to go. I'd just stepped in front of the urinal when Morris walked in. Great. Just the guy I wanted to see. "It's okay, Morris. I'm not wearing a microphone," I told him.

Morris got a good laugh. "Good one, Pratt," he said. "Oh, Dr. Weaver says she needs to talk to you."

I sighed. "What did I do now?"

"Well, this is just a wild guess, but I think the fact that Sam was the one who put in that chest tube might have something to do with it."

"Well, somebody had to!" I protested. Then it dawned on me: Morris told her. I flushed the urinal, and turned to face Morris. "You told Weaver, didn't you?"

"It was either that, or get my head chewed off," he answered.

"Morris, what the hell were you thinking?" I shouted. "Don't you realize how much trouble we're going to be in?"

"Hey, it wasn't me who decided to roll the dice."

"So, you would've rather that girl died? Is that it?" I challenged him. Even though it's not in the nurse's job description, it was the right thing to do, but Morris didn't really seem to care. Pompous little douche.

"Take it up with Weaver, that's all I can tell you," he said calmly. And he walked out the door as I went to the sink to wash my hands.

After I left the restroom, I saw Sam entering the lounge. Right then and there, I knew what was about to happen: the fireworks. I couldn't let Sam take the heat on her own, and I knew what I had to do, so I followed her.

"Your mom's on the phone," Frank informed me. "Line Two."

"Tell her I'll call her back," I said as I rushed past the desk.

When I got to the lounge, sure enough, Sam was sitting at the table across from Weaver. "Have a seat, Greg," Weaver said sternly. Whenever she starts talking like that, you'd better watch your ass.

"Listen, I can explain," I began.

"And by all means, please do."

"Well, this patient was seriously injured," I reminded them. "The ultrasound confirmed that a piece of broken rib had punctured her lung, and it was starting to collapse. I was too busy checking her resps, and there was nobody else around to put in the chest tube. And I made absolutely sure that Sam got it in right. We stabilized her and got her up to the OR."

"Uh-huh. And it never occured to you that nurses are not trained for that?"

I shook my head. "I didn't know what I was supposed to do."

As soon as I said those words, Weaver slammed her fist on the table so hard that it could've woken everyone in the ER. "Do either of you realize what you've opened up the hospital, and yourselves, to?" she exploded. "If there were any complications with putting in that tube, this girl could've gone into asystole, or even died! Surely you know that it's standard procedure to call in another attending under these circumstances?"

"She would've died without the chest tube," Sam pointed out, avoiding eye contact with either of us. She knew we were both in big trouble. And I mean _big._

"Furthermore, are you aware that this incident is grounds for dismissal?" Weaver continued. "And I don't even wantto_ think _about what'll happen if word of this gets to Legal, not to mention the liabilities it would cause this hospital. You've both demonstrated extremely careless judgment in what could've been a very serious case."

"I know that, and I'm really sorry," Sam said quietly.

"Sorry is no excuse," Weaver barked. "Okay, until further notice, both of you are prohibited from working on traumas, and you're also not to discuss this with anyone. Am I clear?"

Both of us nodded. "Good. And I'd better not catch either of you going up to the OR to see if she's okay!" she said as she left the lounge.

For a minute, neither of us said a word. Finally, Sam turned toward me. "Thanks, Greg," she snapped. And she was out of her chair and out the door before I could get one word in edgewise.

I sat there at the table with my head in my hands. It was bad enough that neither of us called in extra help, but I felt like I'd just thrown her to the wolves by asking her to assist with the chest tube. And on top of everything else, we were both looking at the possibility of a malpractice suit, suspension, dismissal, or God knows what else. Way to go, Greg.

I don't know why, but I remembered Frank telling me that my mom was on the phone. I picked up the one in the lounge and pressed the Line Two button. "Hi, Mom," I said glumly. After what just happened, I could've really used someone to talk to.


	6. Chapter 6:  Kerry

**CHAPTER 6: Kerry**

_**I **_had just left Sam and Pratt in the lounge when I saw Gates coming out of Curtain Three. "Hey, Dr. Weaver," he said. "I was just on my way to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. Can I get you anything?"

"Just a V8 for me," I answered. "How is she?"

"Abby's still sleeping it off, and her temperature's almost back to normal, so for the most part, she's out of the woods."

"That's good. I'm going to go see her for a couple of minutes."

I stepped into the room and sat down beside the bed as Abby was starting to wake up. "Hey," she said groggily. "Did I miss anything?"

"Well, just a couple of overzealous colleagues, but other than that, not much," I told her.

"Pratt, right?" she guessed.

"Who else? How are you feeling?"

"Right now, I feel like a large strawberry shake," she answered. "Where the hell is Doc Magoo's when you need them?"

"Those were the good old days, huh?" I laughed. "Luka tells me you were a little out of it when you came around the first time. As you probably know, that's one of the symptoms of heat exhaustion."

"What did I say?"

"Oh, first you were going on about your mother, then you were asking for Carter, then you asked about Joe."

"You scared me. For a minute, I thought you were going to tell me I was singing 'Kung Fu Fighting'."

We both got a good laugh. "Well, I see your sense of humor's still intact," I commented. "But seriously, though, we want to keep you here for the next couple of days, then I'd like you to take next week off."

"Oh, thanks, but who's going to cover for me?" she asked.

"Well, since Pratt almost screwed up big-time today, this should give him a chance to rethink a few things," I said. "Remember that girl you and Luka found this morning?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Pratt got the brilliant idea to let Sam put in the chest tube."

Abby thought a minute. "I'm just guessing, but nurses aren't trained for that, are they?"

"Nope," I said quickly. "And they can thank their lucky stars that she made it up to the OR and is recovering right now."

"I think we all can," Abby agreed. "I'm not even going to ask you to go into the details."

"Well, I'll see what I can do about your strawberry shake," I said. "In the meantime, get some more rest."

"Right," Abby said. And with that, I got up and left the room.

I met up with Luka on my way to Admit. "How's Abby?" he asked.

"She's fine. Just asked me for a strawberry shake."

"Yeah, she usually wants one when she's been under the weather," Luka commented. "By the way, Sam and I just had a little talk a minute ago."

"You did?"

He nodded. "She's really upset over what happened in Trauma One today. And she also says that Morris was the one who ordered that chest tube."

I groaned. I felt like such an idiot. "Then it wasn't completely Pratt's fault," I said. I'd even forgotten about how I'd told them not to discuss it with anyone.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Pratt wasn't the one who ordered it, but he still didn't call someone in to assist."

Luka shook his head. "It was an honest mistake, Kerry," he said.

"Yeah, mine or his?"

Luka was about to answer when I heard Frank shout, "Mass casualty coming in! ETA, five minutes!"

Luka and I sprang into action. "What happened?" he asked.

"A mail truck crashed through the window at that Deadhead convention. They're sending us ten majors and ten minors! I told them we could take three of each, but they said--"

"Never mind that now!" I frantically cut him off. "Call up to the OR and tell them to be on standby. All nurses get as much large-bore IVs, blood, and saline you can get your hands on! And tell all other units out there that we won't be able to take any more cases right now! Everybody in this department gown and glove up, it's going to be one hell of a ride! Luka, Barnett, you're with me! Let's move it!"

I was so wrapped up in whipping everybody into shape that I didn't notice we were short a doctor and nurse. But right now, I had more important things to worry about.


	7. Chapter 7:  Gates

**CHAPTER 7: Gates**

_**"A**_ll right, are we all here?" Dr. Weaver shouted as we crowded into the ambulance bay.

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Morris answered.

"I'll take that as a yes!" Weaver said as the first of two ambulances pulled up. "Okay, everybody, it's going to be messy!"

Boy, I'll say it was. As soon as those words were spoken, the ambulance doors swung open, and out came our first of many patients. "What do we got?" I asked.

"35-year-old man, chest trauma, fractured right femur, possible concussion. We gave him five mics of morphine, crashed en route," the EMT reported.

"I've got him!" Luka shouted, following the gurney inside.

"Next ambulance?" I asked.

"Pulling up right now. Go!" Luka commanded.

"26-year-old woman, crushed larynx, LOC en route 74 percent. We criked her in the field, and she's alert," the second EMT said. "Second patient is a 12-year-old boy, blown left pupil, concussion, and altered. It's her cousin."

"Shelly!" the boy screamed.

"She's on her way inside," I told him. "We're going to take good care of her."

Upon hearing my voice, the boy looked up at me, and a huge grin spread across his face. "Hey, Pigpen!" he slurred happily. "Oh, man, I thought you were dead! Hey, how's Jimi?"

"Yeah, he's altered, all right," Neela agreed. "Get him to Trauma Two, and Abby to a private room upstairs. Move!"

"Come on, Ray!" I called, and the two of us headed back inside to Curtain Three.

"What's going on?" Abby asked as we rushed into the room.

"Mass cas at that Deadhead convention," Ray said grimly as we settled Abby onto a gurney, put up the side bars, and started to wheel her out. "They need the room."

"I guess this means now strawberry shake now, huh?" Abby groaned.

"Afraid not," I answered. "Ray's going to take you upstairs to a private room, and we'll keep you posted on how things are going down here, okay?"

"Okay."

We'd just gotten Abby to the elevator when Neela shouted, "Tony, I need you!"

"You're on your own with her," I said, pressing the elevator button. Then, I turned to run toward Neela. "Yeah?"

"It's Sarah and Meg," she said in a trembling voice.

"What!" I exclaimed. I felt my whole body go numb. I mean, this was my best friend's widow and her daughter. What was going on? "Where are they?"

"They're in Exam One, and they both look banged up pretty badly."

I'm sure Neela was still talking to me, but I didn't hear her, because I was running as fast as I could. "Sarah!" I yelled. And I burst into the room.

Both of them were injured, but thank God, not as seriously as that kid who thought I was Pigpen (the deceased member of the Grateful Dead, not the _Peanuts _character). Sarah had scrapes and bruises all over her face, and her left arm was bleeding. Meg had a splint on her right ankle, a broken nose and left index finger, and two teeth knocked out. "Oh, dear God!" I blurted out.

"Tony!" Sarah sobbed, jumping off the gurney and running to me. I hugged her. "It all happened so fast! Mom and I were at the salad bar, and the next thing we knew, this mail truck was coming right for us!"

"Where's that little boy?" Meg moaned.

"What little boy?" I asked.

"There was this little boy, he almost got hit. I pushed him out of the way!" Meg said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Oh, God, please let him be all right!"

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered as I stroked Sarah's hair, then helped her sit on the nearby stool. "We'll get you two taken care of."

I pressed the call button on the wall. "Frank, I need a nurse in here! Who's available?"

"Just Chuny."

"Good. Send her to Exam One, now!"

Less than a minute later, Chuny arrived. _"Ay, Dios mio," _she murmured.

"Chuny, this woman has multiple fractures. I need you to call Ortho and see who's available," I reported. Then, as I helped Sarah back up on her feet, I continued, "This little girl has an incision on her arm and cuts and scrapes all over her face. Who do we have in Sutures?"

"I thought Sam and Pratt would be, but they're MIA," Chuny answered.

"Okay, take the woman to Ortho, and make sure she's taken care of. I'll take the girl to Sutures myself."

"I'll call Lydia," Chuny said.

"Good. Go!"

I led Sarah to the Suture Room. All the while, I was saying, "Just keep your arm elevated, and whatever you do, keep applying pressure to it."

"It hurts so much," Sarah whimpered.

"I know, honey. One of the nurses will give you some medicine, okay?" I said soothingly. When we got to the Suture Room, Conni was waiting. "Where's Lydia?"

"Trauma One, with Weaver and Kovac," she answered. "What do you need?"

"She needs stitches in her left arm. It's cut up pretty bad," I said as I helped Sarah down into the chair.

"Yeah, it sure is," Conni agreed. "I'll irrigate, you give her the betadyne."

"Got it."

As we fixed Sarah up, I kept thinking to myself, _What else can happen today?_


	8. Chapter 8:  Pratt

A/N: This takes place before the mass cas actually happens.

**CHAPTER 8: Pratt**

_**A**_fter I got off the phone, I walked out of the lounge, and told Frank, "If anyone asks, I went upstairs for some lunch."

"Can you get me a ham sandwich while you're at it?" Frank asked.

"Sure," I muttered, and headed toward the elevator. The truth is, I wasn't really paying that much attention to him. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

I was finishing my lunch (a hamburger, an apple, a scoop of Neapolitan ice-cream, and iced tea) when I looked up and saw Sam leaving. My common sense told me to give her some space, but my ego told me to go try to talk to her. And I'll give you three guesses which side I listened to.

"Sam?" I called. "Sam, come on!"

"Go to hell," she retorted. She was still upset with me for what happened in the trauma room.

"Would you just listen to me?"

She turned around, her hands on her hips, and glared at me. "All right. What do you want to talk about?"

"I'm trying to apologize, in case you haven't noticed."

"Well, in case _you _haven't noticed, you hung me out to dry when we were trying to save that girl's life, and you also made me look like a total dumbass in front of Weaver," she said coldly. "Is it just me, or do you have some kind of habit of dropping your own shortcomings into other peoples' laps?"

"All right, just stop it," I shot back. I could feel a major pissing match coming up, and that was the last thing I wanted. "There wasn't enough time to spare, and without that chest tube, there's no way she would've made it up to the OR."

"We won't know that, now will we?" Sam yelled, and she turned and stomped down the hall with me right behind her. "If you would get your head out of your ass for two seconds, you would know enough to call somebody in to assist! But what do you do instead?"

"I ask you to do it," I said. "And believe it or not, I was right there by your side, walking you through it, and if you ask me, I think you did a really good job."

Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say, because the next thing she did was spin around and start pointing her finger just inches away from my face. For a minute, I thought she was going to scratch my eyes out. "And it doesn't even matter to you that nurses arent trained for that kind of procedure!" she railroaded on. "All you gave a damn about was trying to look all macho for everybody else at the expense of my job and my reputation!"

So much for trying to avoid a pissing match. "You are one ungrateful bitch, you know that?" I snapped as I followed her into the storage room. After slamming the door, I stepped right in front of her and continued, "I tried to do you a favor! When I saw you going into the lounge, I knew that Weaver was going to jump down your throat, so I went there to cut you a little slack, and this is how you thank me?"

"Oh, yeah, like you're really concerned about me," Sam laughed scornfully. "I don't need any favors from you, Greg. I made decisions on my own, and I'm ready to face the music, which is something I've hardly ever seen you do, if at all."

"Well, don't worry, because this is the last favor I'm ever going to do for you." And I turned around to open the door. That's when the knob came off right in my hand. "Oh, give me a _break."_

"What, did you lose your lucky penny?" Sam sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No, the doorknob came loose," I said, like I was explaining something very complicated to a three-year-old. "I suppose you think that's my fault, too?"

"Well, there's only two of us here, and it sure as hell isn't my fault."

"Boy, no wonder your kid thinks his life sucks," I smirked. It was way below the belt, but to tell you the truth, I really didn't care anymore.

"Excuse me?" Sam growled. I could see her face turning bright red, and her fists clenching. That's when I knew it was going to hit the fan.

"All I'm saying is, if you're like this at work, I'd hate to see what you're like the rest of the time."

"Don't you e_ver_ criticize my parenting skills," she warned.

"Well, _excuuuse _me," I said, folding my arms across my chest. "I didn't know you were such a model parent, and I was the guy on the bottom of the food chain."

"Oh, yeah? Well, at least I don't have a brother who'd drink a whole bottle of rat poison if Jim Jones told him to!"

That did it. I was seeing red. If there's one thing you do not insult me about, it's my brother, Leon. I still remember that one time in high school when this one kid called him a fat-assed retard, and I almost broke his jaw. To this day, I still try my hardest not to take a swing at anyone who speaks about him that way to me. The only times when I don't is when a woman or a kid says it.

At any rate, we both lost our tempers at this point. I mean, really. We just started screaming our heads off at each other. It reminded me of how my parents used to fight when I was growing up. I don't remember what we said, specifically, but it did have a lot of words that, if you said them to your own folks, you would definitely get your mouth washed out with every bar of soap in the house. It was a pretty ugly fight.

What happened next is something I still, for the life of me, don't understand. Right in the middle of all that yelling, we threw our arms around each other, and kissed. It was like changing the channel from an episode of _Jerry Springer _to a soap opera. That's how quicky it happened.

When we finally separated, we just stood there in total shock, and I guarantee you that we were both thinking, _What the hell just happened?_

Sam was the first one to recover. "If you think a kiss is going to solve everything, then you've been watching too many old movies," she informed me. She wasn't yelling, but she was still pretty pissed.

"It wasn't just me, you know."

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"Look, can we talk about how much of a screw-up I am later? How are we going to get out of here?"

"Like it really matters now," Sam snorted. "Weaver told us to stay away from traumas, so let's do something right for a change."

"Like what?"

"Well, for starters, you can shut the hell up and leave me alone."

"No problem," I said in disgust. "I don't want to speak to a whiny little baby like you anyway."

"You're no better off than I am, pal."

If I had a Sharpie with me, I would've drawn a line on the floor and told her to stay on her side of the room. But I didn't, so I just went to a far corner of the room and shut my pager off. All I did was try to apologize to Sam, and this is what I get. That's gratitude for you, huh?


	9. Chapter 9:  Morris

**CHAPTER 9: Morris**

_**"C**_an somebody bring the intubation kit? This guy can't wait!" I was screaming. And this guy really _couldn't _wait. He needed help breathing. I was doing everything I could to help him, but at the same time, I was still reeling from the fact that it was technically my fault for what happened with Sam and Pratt. I wasn't about to lose this patient, too.

"Hete you go," Yosh said, handing it to me.

"When was the last epi?" Dr. Weaver asked.

"About three minutes ago," Yosh answered. "BP's 85/80, and falling."

"I'm in. Bag him," I ordered. Yosh attached the bag to the tube and started squeezing air into our patient. "How's his BP?"

"It's rising. What do you think, Dr. Weaver?"

She put on her stethoscope and listened to his heartbeat. "Heartbeat's stabilizing," she reported. "Okay, he's ready for the OR."

After they wheeled him out, I pulled off my gloves and let out a heavy sigh. Not only had we saved that guy by the skin of our teeth, but I still couldn't shake my guilt over letting Pratt and Sam put the chest tube into that girl from this morning. I should've called in another attending, but being that there wasn't time, I didn't feel like I had any choice but to let them handle it.

"Morris?" Dr. Weaver's voice interrupted my thoughts. "We've still got a lot of minor injuries waiting in Chairs. They're not going to fix themselves, you know."

"Sure. Sure, I'll be right with you."

I made my way to the waiting area, which was practically overflowing with people dressed in tie-dye T-shirts, faded jeans, and moccasins. Almost all of them had open cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Amidst all the chaos, I saw Gates coming out of one of the exam rooms. "Hey, Morris, give me a hand here," he called as he helped some middle-aged guy to his feet.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Exam One. He'll need stitches in his forehead and his right hand."

"Right. I'll get a suture kit," I said as I opened the door to Exam One. Then I called, "Lydia, Dr. Gates needs a suture kit."

"They're on the second shelf," she called back as she followed Kovac and Ray into Trauma Two. I hurried to the shelves and hunted for a fresh kit. As soon as I found one and delivered it to Gates' patient, I went to this one kid, who couldn't have been more than fifteen, and led him to Exam Two. On the way, I passed by Trauma Two, which was where Ray and Kovac were. "Asystole," I heard Kovac say.

"How long has he been down?" Ray asked.

"Twenty minutes," Kovac answered. "No, his injuries were too severe. That's all we can do. What's the time?"

"Time of death, 17:17."

Upon hearing that, I knew that we'd lost another patient. That made the memory of this morning's events eat away at me even more. I knew what I had to do: I had to tell Dr. Weaver, but I couldn't now. I had patients to treat.

"Are you all right?" I heard the kid ask.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I said. "I just heard them pronounce somebody. Come on, let's look at your knee."

As long as I live, I'll never know how I got through that suturing job without screwing it up. All I could think about was the look that was going to be on Dr. Weaver's face when I told her the truth. And boy, was she going to let me have it.

After I finished with the kid's knee, I left the room and went to the Admit desk. "If anyone asks, tell them I went upstairs to check on Dr. Lockhart," I said to no one in particular. Not surprisingly, I didn't get an answer. And if they knew what had happened that morning, I doubt if they'd even acknowledge me.

I was feeling kind of thirsty, so I went to the cafeteria to get a chocolate shake. I also remembered Dr. Weaver saying something about Dr. Lockhart wanting a strawberry shake, so I got one for her, and headed down the hall toward her room.

She was just waking up when I got in. "Is that you, Luka?" she yawned.

"No, it's me," I answered as I set the shake on her table.

"Hey, Morris," she said groggily. "What brings you to this little paradise?"

"I just wanted to see how you were," I said. "Feeling any better?"

"Actually, this is the best night's sleep I've had in weeks," she confessed. "And I see you got my strawberry shake."

"Yes, and don't worry, I didn't drop it on the way over."

Dr. Lockhart managed a weak laugh. "Good," she said. "If you had, I'd have to ask Weaver to put you on bedsore duty for the next six months."

I couldn't help laughing. "I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor," I commented.

"Boy, I've never heard that one before," she quipped. After taking a big drink, she asked, "Seriously, though, what are you doing up here?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, I have something to confess, actually," I began. "I thought I'd run it by you before going to Dr. Weaver."

"What did you do?"

I cleared my throat. "I was the one who ordered that chest tube on that girl this morning. It wasn't Sam or Pratt's fault at all."

Dr. Lockhart shook her head. "That wasn't the smartest move in the world, Morris," she told me. "You realize that Sam and Pratt are going to be facing disciplinary action for something they didn't do, right?"

I nodded. "God, why the hell didn't I tell Dr. Weaver in the first place?" I moaned.

"I don't know. Because you're too proud to admit you made a mistake?" she suggested.

Boy, did she hit the nail on the head with that one. Ever since I first came to County, my biggest problem has been my pride, or lack thereof. I remembered one time when Dr. Weaver told me that I was just like this one doctor who used to work there named Malucci, I believe. At the time, I didn't know what she was trying to tell me, but if I knew then what I know now, I wouldn't have done what I did.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I sighed. "Listen, do you know what time Dr. Weaver's shift ends?"

"It usually ends at 6:00. Why?"

"I don't like it, but it's the least I can do."

"Then do it."

As I left the room, I knew what I had to do, and I just wanted to get it over with.


	10. Chapter 10:  Sam

**CHAPTER 10: Sam**

_**P**_ratt and I were still locked in the supply room. And no, we still weren't speaking to each other. Sure, we were acting like a couple of five-year-olds, but if you'd been through what I'd been through, you'd never want to speak to the other person again, either.

I guess Pratt heard me crying, because he'd come over and put his arm around me. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said. "I didn't mean that."

"Which part?" I sobbed. "You telling me I'm a horrible mother, or Weaver probably never trusting us in the ER again?"

"The whole thing. Look, if anybody's to blame for what happened in Trauma One today, it's me. I know I should've called for assistance with that chest tube, but there just wasn't time."

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" I sniffled. "The way things are looking, we'll be old enough to retire by the time Weaver starts letting us work on any more traumas."

"I don't know about that," he said. "If there's one thing I've never known her to do, it's hold a grudge. I remember one time when I was showing this woman how to do a breast exam on herself, and--get this--she claimed that I was coming on to her."

I stifled a laugh after hearing that story. "Did you?" I asked.

"Hell, no!" he exclaimed. "Are you kidding me? She looked like my biology teacher in tenth grade! And let me tell you, she was no Cindy Crawford!"

This time, I had to laugh, and so did Pratt. After we calmed down, I said to him, "And I'm sorry for that remark about your brother."

"Aw, that's okay," Pratt sighed. "I'm used to people giving me that kind of crap. Even now, I wonder if I did the right thing by putting him on that bus to Milwaukee. And not a day goes by that I don't worry about him."

I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. "I think I see what you mean," I said. "I think about Alex's dad almost all the time. I mean, he was a loser in every sense of the word, but Alex still thinks the world of him. I guess he's trying to make amends for what he did, you know?"

Pratt nodded. "I still remember when he took off to look for him."

"Yeah." I had to stop myself and take a deep breath before continuing. "Luka and I ended up finding him in Colorado, of all places. God only knows how he even got there. And you should've heard me yelling at him."

"Hey, you had every right to be upset. If I were you, I would've reacted the same way."

We were silent for a few seconds. "Listen, this is probably going to sound like the dumbest question in the world, but um, why did you kiss me?"

Pratt looked away and started fidgeting a little. "I was going to ask you the same thing," he confessed.

God, where's that bass line from _Seinfeld _when you need it? "Well, it just came naturally to me, I guess," I said. "Whenever Steve and I had our blow-ups, I'd always surprise him by just giving him a kiss, and think it would shut him up."

"Well, it certainly worked on me," Pratt snickered. "But seriously, though, I've been kind of wanting to ask you out for a long time."

"Really?" I asked. I sure didn't see that one coming. "So, uh, why didn't you?"

"Well, I was under the impression that you thought you were too good for me. Actually, after what happened today, I wouldn't blame you for thinking that about me now."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short," I said softly. "I saw you in that trauma room today. You're a really good doctor, and you're a good person."

"I'm glad somebody thinks so," Pratt snorted. "Romano always told me how much of a smartass I was."

"Yeah, and look what he got for treating you like that," I pointed out. "Greg, if somebody doesn't like you for you, then it's their problem, not yours. And you were right about me. I should've been more appreciative of you for standing up for me to Weaver today."

"And you were right to tell me to get my head out of my ass," he told me. "Hell, if I had a dollar for every time somebody's told me that, I could take my whole family on a trip to Bora Bora."

"I think we've all been told that at one time or another," I agreed. "And as for you asking me out, I gladly accept your invitation." Oh, my God, I sound like someone from _Gone With The Wind._

"Thanks," Pratt smiled. "The only problem now is, how the hell are we going to get out of here?"

As soon as he said that, we heard the sound of a floor buffer outside the door. "You hear that?" I whispered.

"Yeah. Somebody's out there." He grabbed my hand, and we ran to the door and started pounding. Call me crazy, but I kind of wish "The Morning After" was playing in the background.

"Hey, we're locked in! Can you give us a hand here!" I shouted.

The noise stopped immediately. "Sure. What happened?" the janitor asked.

"The doorknob came loose," Pratt answered. "I've still got it in my pocket!"

"Okay, no problem. Just slide it back into place," the janitor instructed. After Pratt lined up the end of the knob with the other side, the janitor asked, "You got it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, on three. One...two...three." They both turned the knob at the same time, and miraculously, the door opened.

"Thanks, man," Pratt said gratefully.

"No problem. Hey, you missed one hell of a show downstairs in the ER. There were a whole bunch of Deadheads from that convention."

Pratt and I looked at each other. "Alex is going to be _so pissed!" _I laughed. "He's been wanting to go to that for weeks."

"Aw, don't worry, hon. They'll be in Chicago all weekend," the janitor smiled. "I'm off tomorrow, so I'll be going there myself."

"Man, I'll bet Ray feels like he's in heaven," Pratt commented. "So, you want to see if there's anything we can do?"

"Might as well," I decided. Even though we'd missed all the traumas, and were also facing disciplinary action, we thought we could at least see what we could do to help.


	11. Chapter 11:  Kerry

**CHAPTER 11: Kerry**

_**A**_fter we treated the last minor injury from the Deadhead convention, and sent them on their way, I collapsed into one of the chairs behind the Admit desk. "Oh, God, I'm beat," I moaned.

"Long night, huh?" Frank asked.

"You might say that," I said. "If I have to look at one more burnout with a facial lac, I'll treat him without using any medication whatsoever."

"Well, at least you didn't spend almost an hour smelling incense and body odor," Frank pointed out. "Oh, Dr. Gates was supposed to bring me a ham sandwich. Do you know where he is?"

"No, Frank. And to be honest with you, I really don't give a rat's ass."

That's when I heard the elevator ding, and out came Gates. "The ER lunch wagon is here," he announced. "V8 for Dr. Weaver, and a ham and Swiss on whole wheat for the big guy."

"Oh, thanks," I said, grabbing the drink from him and popping it open. "Boy, whoever invented the phrase 'just what the doctor ordered' sure knew what they were talking about."

"Wait a minute, I thought I told you I didn't like Swiss cheese," Frank said.

"Here, I'll take it, then," Gates offered. And with that, Frank peeled the slice of cheese off his sandwich and stuck it to Gates' forehead. "Thanks. I'll use it as a no-smoking patch."

I would've let out a sarcastic laugh or told Gates to stop going to the comedy clubs if I wasn't so exhausted. But as it turns out, I didn't get to rest for very long, because the next person who came up to me was Morris. "Dr. Weaver, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked timidly.

"Sure, I'm not busy. What do you want?"

"Can we go into the lounge?"

Sighing, I got up and followed Morris into the lounge. "What is it?" I asked.

"Well," he began, "this is about what happened in Trauma One this morning."

"Go ahead, I'm listening," I said, putting my drink on the table and folding my arms. I had a feeling that I wasn't going to like what was coming next.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "I'm-the-one-who-ordered-the-chest-tube-it-wasn't-Sam-or-Pratt's-fault."

"Say that again?"

"I said, I was the one who ordered that chest tube. It wasn't Sam or Pratt's fault," he repeated.

"Actually, I already knew that," I said. "Dr. Kovac told me this afternoon."

"Really?"

I shook my head and sighed in disappointment. "Sam and Pratt are obviously upset with me, but I can guarantee you that they'll be wanting your head on a silver platter. Do you have any idea what you've done here, Morris?"

"I know, and I feel horrible," he said softly, looking at the floor. "I didn't know what else to do. If we'd called somebody in to assist, she might not have even made it up to surgery."

"I owe Sam and Pratt an apology, and so do you," I said sternly. "Not only that, but as of right now, the four of us are going to have a meeting with Anspaugh to figure out what needs to be done about this."

It made me remember another time, some years ago. If you really must pry, I'm talking about Doug Ross, one of our finest pediatricians at the time. (Okay, so he wasn't the finest. He once performed an illegal detox on a crack baby, and was put on probation for several months.) Anyway, being the Einstein that he was, he'd prescribed a PCA machine and Dilaudid through Carol Hathaway's clinic for a boy who was dying of ALD, which he eventually did. But that's not all. As soon as Mark Greene, God rest him, found out, he pretty much wanted to kill Doug for his actions. And yes, word had gotten to Anspaugh, not only about Doug, but also the fact that Mark and I had covered for him. Doug later resigned, but that whole mess still haunts me to this day.

At any rate, I called upstairs to the surgical floor, and paged Anspaugh. Within minutes, he, Sam, and Pratt had joined us in the lounge. "This had better be important," Anspaugh said briskly.

"Yes, Don, it is," I answered. Then, turning to Morris, I said, "Go ahead."

It all came pouring out of him: the patient, her condition, the ultrasound that showed the broken rib, him ordering the chest tube, none of them calling in another attending, everything. All the while, I could see Anspaugh glaring at Morris and clenching his fists to the point where his knuckles were turning white. I thought for sure he was going to throw something.

When Morris had finished speaking, Anspaugh said, "I don't know what the hell you could've possibly been thinking, Dr. Morris. If that girl died, all three of you would've been facing a very nasty malpractice suit. It's bad enough that this even took place to begin with, but the fact that you personally tried to pass the buck is inexcusable. Okay, as a result of your actions, you, Dr. Pratt, will be covering Dr. Lockhart's shifts until she recovers from her illness. You, Nurse Taggart, are prohibited from assisting with traumas for the rest of the week. And you, Dr. Morris, are going to be on bedsore duty for the next month and a half. I hope you learned something from this."

Sam, Pratt, and Morris nodded. They all looked ashamed of themselves. It wasn't the punishment I would've given them, but it was better than nothing.


	12. Chapter 12:  Ray

**CHAPTER 12: Ray**

_**"T**_ime of death, 17:17," I glumly reported. Dr. Kovac and I had exhausted all of our efforts to save the driver of the mail truck that had caused the accident at the convention. What happened was, this guy was an epileptic, and he'd had a seizure at the wheel, which made him lose control of his truck and crash. I'd never had an experience like that before. I mean, I've seen patients die on the table, but never this. The fact that we'd lost him was bad enough, but knowing that he couldn't stop himself from causing that damn accident made it even harder to accept. "Did he have any family?"

"Just a wife and son," Dr. Kovac answered. "Thee was a card in his wallet with their names and a phone number in case of an emergency."

"They're not going to like this," I said. "You want to call them, or should I?"

"I'll do it. You help with the patients in Chairs."

"Right."

I went back out into the waiting area to give Morris, Pratt, Neela, and Gates a hand. "Hell of a day, huh?" I asked Pratt.

"Yeah, I'll say," he agreed.

"Hey, I heard you and Sam were a little tied up while the rest of us were hard at work," I commented.

"You might say that. I'm covering Dr. Lockhart's shift until she recovers, Sam's banned from traumas for the rest of the week, and Morris is going to be looking at bedsores for a while."

"Boy, Anspaugh and Weaver really threw the book at you, huh?"

"I'm surprised that they didn't blindfold us, tie us together, and send the firing squad after us," Pratt grumbled.

"Hey, you did what you had to do," I told him. "That girl's upstairs recuperating, thanks to you guys."

"Thanks, Ray. I guess you got your wish to go to that convention after all."

I had to laugh. "On the upside, it'll be in town all weekend. You and Sam want to come with Neela and me?"

"Sure, what the hell."

It only took us another two and a half hours to patch everybody up, but we got through it. Some of the patients even gave us incense, macrame, hemp necklaces, lvoe beads, tie-dye T-shirts, and hacky-sacks for our trouble. The only thing that really annoyed the crap out of me was listening to Frank bitch about how filthy they all looked, and how weird they acted. All I can tell you is, I was really glad when my shift was over.

Sometime after the sun had gone down, Neela and I were driving back to our apartment. "You okay over there?" I asked her.

"Yeah, I'm all right," she answered. "I was kind of expecting today to really bore me to tears."

"Yeah, I guess this is what they mean by expecting the unexpected," I commented. "Oh, did you still want to go to that convention?"

Neela sighed sadly. "Not really, Ray. I still think it's too soon after losing Michael, and I'm afraid if I go out and try to enjoy myself, I'll end up feeling guilty about it."

"Look, Neela," I began, "I know Mike. I know he loved you very much, and I also know that he wouldn't want you to miss out on everything that life has to offer. Believe me, I felt the same way when I lost my best friend to an aneurysm. He was studying to be a neurosurgeon, of all things. I still get pissed off about that even now."

I'm not too sure, but I think I saw Neela wiping a tear away. "So, how did you deal with it?" she asked. I could tell that she was fighting to keep her voice steady.

"Mostly, I kept myself busy with med school. That, and I also thought about all the good times we'd had. You know, today, Dr. Kovac and I lost that guy who was driving the mail truck that had crashed. It turns out that he had epilepsy, which led to him having a seizure at the wheel. I'm sure his family's being told the same thing that my mom told me when my friend died, about remembering all the good times, and knowing that as long as you remember him, he's never really gone."

Neela nodded in agreement. "I suppose you're right," she said.

I was just about to say something else when a certain song started playing on the radio, a song that, in my opinion, reflected exactly how we were feeling:

_"Must be getting early, clocks are running late._

_Faint light in the morning sky seems so phony._

_Dawn is breaking everywhere, light a candle, curse the glare._

_Draw the curtains, I don't care, 'cuz it's all right._

_I will get by, I will get by, I will get by-y-y,_

_I will survive..."_

Amen to that, Jerry. Amen to that.

**THE END**


End file.
